


we've got a vicious streak

by flimsy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Banter, Developing Relationship, Face-Fucking, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsy/pseuds/flimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of 1DDay, Harry finds a way to help Louis relax.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>“You made such a ruckus when you came in,” Louis grunts, but there’s a smile tugging on his lips. He squirts some shower gel into his hand and starts washing himself, staring up at Harry, drops of water clinging to his lashes and his lips, making his Cupid’s bow look like a fruit ready to be plucked. Harry swallows, feels a rush of heat creep up the small of his back, and slides his hand from Louis’ arm to his waist, thumb rubbing his stomach. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	we've got a vicious streak

Louis is asleep by the time Harry gets back to his suite from the gym; he’s sprawled on top of the covers like a monkey, naked feet hanging off the side of the bed, his back rising and falling slowly. He hasn’t even taken off his jeans or his shirt, and his hair is a mess of product and sleep. 

Harry stops in the door, watching him for a moment, rubbing his T-shirt over his face to get rid of the itchy, drying sweat, and then takes a careful step inside the room, his trainers soundless on the thick rug. He slips past the flickering telly and into the bathroom, almost holding his breath with the effort to be quiet as he takes off his shoes and workout clothes, before closing the door and stepping into the shower. 

He feels less wound-up now that he’s had time to run in quiet for a bit, with nothing but the aching sound of his racing heart in his ears, limbs heavy when he’d finished; the show was exhausting in a way he didn’t think it would be, grating and dragging like molasses toward the end, and Harry thought he’d be fine with it all, because they’ve gone through hours and hours of interviews strung together before, but he’s never been so relieved to get off a set before, to be able to step out and grab his trainers and just run without the constant buzz of their team around him. 

He’s surprised that Louis simply crashed, as he expected to find him in front of the telly with a half-empty six-pack of Coronas in his lap, maybe still a bit pissed off, maybe still a bit angry and wired, but less thorny and biting. Louis makes a docile, yielding, often even needy drunk, Harry’s found. He’s not exactly disappointed, but in one way or another he was counting on this scenario when he made his way back from the hotel gym. 

He drops his head against the tile, exhaling slowly, eyes closed, and then grabs the shampoo off the rack. He washes his hair quickly, rinsing, swallowing and spitting water as it splashes down his face, and blindly fumbles for his conditioner only to find somebody - Louis - handing it to him. Harry sputters a bit, blinking rapidly against the water in his eyes and steps out of the stream, smoothing his hair back, fighting hard to hold back a grin. 

Louis looks sleepy, more scruffy than earlier, and he’s rubbing his eyes with one hand, while taking off his jeans and pants with the other. He staggers a little, lips pulling into a small pout, then finally manages to get all his clothes off and steps into the shower with Harry. 

“Hi,” Harry says, biting his lip; he gently guides Louis under the stream and Louis gives him a look like he’s been insulted. Harry pokes his arm. “Hi, sleepyhead.”

“You made such a ruckus when you came in,” Louis grunts, but there’s a smile tugging on his lips. He squirts some shower gel into his hand and starts washing himself, staring up at Harry, drops of water clinging to his lashes and his lips, making his Cupid’s bow look like a fruit ready to be plucked. Harry swallows, feels a rush of heat creep up the small of his back, and slides his hand from Louis’ arm to his waist, thumb rubbing his stomach. 

“Harold,” Louis says, still staring up. “Don’t.” He quirks a brow at Harry and then darts his gaze down to where Harry knows his cock is hanging half-hard against his leg. 

Harry shrugs sheepishly and ducks his head, grinning, half-embarrassed and half-turned on by the way Louis is still looking at him. “Sorry?” he says. “I guess I can’t help it.” 

Louis makes a disapproving sound, and dives back under the stream to rinse his hair, and Harry drops the conditioner and follows, sliding his hands up the curve of Louis’ waist and his back, trying to pull him in. Louis feels oddly small in his hands, and Harry wants to feel him close, wants to press their tummies and chests together and feel exactly how much bigger he is. 

Louis arches against him for a moment, tiptoes, his wet hair in his face, and Harry leans in and brushes his lips over Louis’ mouth because it’s too inviting and he can’t not; he exhales shakily, cock twitching, and Louis draws back, using his index finger to push Harry back until he’s almost stumbling out of the even floored shower. 

“Hey!” Harry exclaims, shivering against the sudden cold, and Louis flicks him off with a grin. 

“Told you,” he says, still smirking like he’s just won something, like he enjoys this little victory. Harry knows he does, because most of the time it’s Louis setting the pace. It’s never a Thing until Louis says it’s a Thing, and, frankly, Harry is alright with that most of the time. 

He grabs a towel and dries off, tipping his head down to rub-dry his hair, while Louis turns off the water and steps out, bumping into Harry very much on purpose. He slips into a thick robe without drying off, his hair still steadily expelling droplets that make their way down his neck and chest. Harry wants to lick them off his skin; he wants to unwrap Louis like a present and drink him in and open him up and suck him off to drain the tension from his body because usually that is exactly what works best. 

“I need a beer,” Louis announces, fastening his robe, and pads past Harry out into the room; he leaves wet footprints on the nice creme-colored rug, and Harry purses his lips and follows, holding his towel around his waist. Louis sprawls on the sofa with a bottle of beer, his robe riding up on his spread thighs. Harry circles around the sofa for a moment under Louis’ scrutinizing stare and then tugs on a pair of black pants and sits next to him with a beer of his own. 

Louis gives him a once over, eyes lingering, and Harry sits up straighter on instinct, pulling his legs up to cross them. He hesitates for a moment before reaching out to tug at Louis’ bathrobe, just to see if Louis will let him, to see if he’s more talk than walk this time, and - while Harry isn’t going to push it - he doesn’t feel like just letting it go now that Louis’ got him half-hard, and from the tell-tale lump in his robe is excited to see Harry, too. 

Louis visibly swallows and shifts a little, but doesn’t say anything in protest, letting his hands rest at his side, and Harry scoots closer, undoing the lazy knot on Louis’ bathrobe and tugging it open until Louis’ chest and crotch are exposed, his pink cock lying half-hard against his stomach. 

“Ah, yeah,” Harry says and this time he can’t hold back his smirk; Louis swats at him, but spreads his thighs a little more, tilts his hips up. He takes a sip from his beer, lips curling around the neck of the bottle obscenely, giving Harry a look like it’s a subtle hint, and not de facto fellatio on a glass phallus. 

Harry sucks at his lip for a second, discarding his beer on the sofa table, and deliberately takes his time to trace a line from Louis’ right knee up to the V of his hips, over his stomach and up to his nipples, feeling Louis shiver under his fingers. Louis exhales audibly and takes another sip from his beer, and Harry leans in and flicks his tongue out over Louis’ right nipple, teasing over it until it’s wet and slick; he looks up, crouched down on the sofa, trying to make himself fit under Louis’ arm, and sneaks his other hand over Louis’ thigh to his sac, gently cupping it. It’s smooth, heavy, and he rolls it between his fingers the way he knows Louis likes it, careful and slow, sucking on Louis’ nipple until he hears him gasp again, feels his body go a little taut. 

He kisses down his stomach, licking stray drops of water off Louis’ skin, down to his navel, and Louis makes a desperate little sound, cock twitching, visible to Harry only in the corner of his eye, and tilts his hips up a bit more, wanton and needy like he thinks Harry will suck his cock right then and there because he asked for it. Harry grunts against his skin and turns his head, resting his cheek against Louis’ stomach, sliding his hand up Louis’ cock to press his thumb against the slickening head. Louis moans a little, quivering, and it’s not like Harry isn’t tempted - he loves the heavy feel of Louis’ cock on his tongue and loves the way Louis digs his fingers into his hair and tugs and the way his thighs shake when he comes and the look of almost awe on his face when Harry takes him down his throat - but tonight is different and Harry wants something different. 

He presses another kiss to Louis stomach and then sits up again, lets go of Louis’ cock. Louis arches up, chest pink and flushed, and for a minute moment he looks like he’s going to ask for it, like he’ll beg Harry to suck his cock, which, in the entire history of _this_ , has happened only maybe twice, both of which times Louis had been drunk on Tequila and Harry had two fingers up his bum and pressed against his prostate, making Louis’ entire body shake with the need to come. So, as a general rule, Louis doesn’t beg, but right now he almost, barely did, and the thought makes Harry swallow tightly, makes his dick stand at full attention. 

He latches onto Louis’ nipple, the one that he left out before, and scrapes his teeth over it, feels it harden between his lips, and then kisses up over his chest, the ink etched into Louis’ skin until he finds the curve of Louis’ neck to kiss there, too, and the soft spot just under his chin, and the sharp arch of his lip, his mouth that opens up when Harry nibbles at it. 

“Lou,” he murmurs between kisses, hushed, feeling hot and feverish himself, darting out his tongue to meet Louis’. “Lou, d’you wanna suck my cock?” He keeps his voice steady, doesn’t stumble over a single word, and is proud of himself when he says it without a hitch, when he feels Louis’ freeze a little under him. He nudges his hip closer and presses his cock against Louis’ thigh, exhales with a half-moan when the pressure is just so _good_. 

He bites Louis’ chin when Louis doesn’t answer immediately and reaches down to wrap his hand around Louis’ cock, giving it a good upwards stroke with just the right twist to his wrist, the way he knows Louis does it too. Louis’ dick is fully hard now, darker toward the head, and Harry gently strokes back down, heart thumping heavily in his chest. It’s kind of hard to hold back, when his entire body almost aches for the way Louis’ voice would break if Harry were to take his dick in his mouth right now. 

“Hey, Tommo,” he says and looks at Louis again, whose cheeks are all pink now, his lips parted, and eyebrows furrowed. 

“You’re a prick,” Louis says and purses his mouth, but there is no venom in his voice, just a slight hitch when Harry keeps stroking him lightly, teasing over the head of his cock with his thumb at every other turn. 

Harry grins up at him, feeling cheeky and victorious. “I know,” he comments. “Quite terrible.” Louis arches up against him when he bites and nibbles at his lips, and finally opens up against Harry’s inquisitive tongue. 

This time it’s a proper kiss, slick and _good_ , their breaths loud between them with the sounds Louis keeps making because Harry won’t leave his cock alone. He tastes like beer, but Harry figures that he does as well, and he deepens the kiss, cups the back of Louis’ head where his hair is still wet and starting to curl as it’s drying, pulling him up and closer so he can stay in control of the kiss. 

Louis ducks away after another few breathless exchanges, eyes dark. “I wanna get off,” he says. “Could you please facilitate that since you started this whole bloody thing?” His nose scrunches up, lips turning into a pout, and then he surges up, biting at Harry’s face, and Harry laughs, surprised and delighted by Louis’ defiance, and lets go of his cock to wrestle him down into the sofa, ungently forcing Louis’ left thigh up so he can settle against him and grind down. 

He loves the way Louis half-laughs, half-hisses at him, the way Louis’ knees come up and frame his flanks almost immediately, and most of all the way Louis’ body presses up until _it is what it is_ is almost in Harry’s face like a reminder, and he groans, eyes falling shut, and sucks a lovebite into Louis’ collarbone, hoping it will stick this time around. 

He grinds down again, his dick still trapped in his pants pressing into the crease of Louis’ thigh and his stomach against Louis’ cock, and pushes himself up on his arms before repeating, rutting against Louis who tilts his head back, eyes now closed. Louis’ hand finds Harry’s arm, fingers holding tightly, nails digging in, and Harry groans, whimpers despite himself, and keeps going for another five, six pseudo-thrusts because this is as close to fucking Louis as he’s ever gotten and it’s blowing his mind. 

Louis moans and meets him, hips tilted, and then tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair and pulls him down. Harry stutters to a halt, heart racing, and is surprised when Louis’ kiss is gentle and careful, growing from the lightest touch of their lips to something deeper and more intense. 

He wiggles his hand between their bodies and tugs his pants down, hissing when he can finally wrap his hand around his cock, and sucks on Louis’ bottom lip momentarily before breaking away. Louis licks his lips and Harry feels him cross his ankles at the small of his back, forcing him down a little so their cocks are almost aligned. 

Harry laughs, breathless, wraps his fingers around Louis’ dick too, and kisses up Louis’ chin, groaning a little. “‘s good,” he breathes out; his original plan is still present in the back of his head, but it’s almost lost in the haze of Louis’ body, of how much he wants _this_ _now_. “D’you feel better, Lou?” He traces his lips up to Louis’ ear and tugs at it with his teeth, feeling a rush of sensation as he imagines what it feels like to Louis, feels Louis shiver in unison. 

“Yeah,” Louis replies much too late. He shifts a bit, legs falling open again, and scrapes his nails down Harry’s back like he’s berating him for prying. “Wanna get off, wanna get you off-” He seems to stop himself and then presses his face into Harry’s arm, kissing the inside of his elbow where Harry is so ticklish the touch makes him shy away, breathless and giggling. 

Louis sits up on his elbows, his chest curving, nipples perked and dark pink, and his stomach pressed against the heads of both their cocks which Harry is still holding. He can’t help but jerk his hips a bit, fucking against Louis, and finally steadies himself on the back of the sofa with his free hand. 

Louis gives him a long look and then reaches down and pushes his hand away, wrapping his own around Harry’s cock, allowing Harry to ride up into the circle of his fingers. Harry moans Louis’ name and tries to get rid of his pants, but only ends up trapping the waistband under his arse, cutting into his balls. “Fuck,” he hisses, licking his bottom lip which he knows is swollen and red by now because he keeps biting at it. 

“Hey, hey, Harry,” Louis says; his voice more hoarse than usual now, tilted at the end like he’s barely contained. “What was your plan in all this?” He smirks up at Harry, but the color in his cheeks and his dilated pupils betray him. 

“Dunno,” Harry grunts, barely managing a shrug, back feeling tight. He can feel his cock leak a bit of precome, minute beads of it, and flicks his eyes from Louis’ face down and back up again. “Get you off, I suppose. Get us both off. Get you a bit relaxed.” He grins. “Fuck you, maybe.”

Louis’ hand collides with his face and Harry opens his mouth and licks the flat of it in protest while Louis squawks, “ _Not_ going to happen tonight, bro.” Louis sits up more, awkwardly kneels and Harry dramatically flops back against the sofa, hands sprawled over his head when Louis shrugs off his robe all the way and crawls over him, straddling his thighs. 

He looks narrow, his chest piece only accentuating the sharpness of his collarbones, the jut of his shoulders; his hair is drying into his face in a terrible mess, and if Harry weren’t so awfully distracted by both his own as well as Louis’ cock, he would be making a remark on how much Lou will moan about fixing it tomorrow. 

Louis looks down, fringe falling over his eyes, and then meets Harry’s eyes through his lashes. “I could suck you off, though,” he says and ghosts his hand up Harry’s thigh and presses the flat of it against Harry’s cock, his fingers spread out as he rubs _up_. 

Harry moans again, bucks into his hand, and feels his voice break embarrassingly when he replies, “I- if you’d like to do that, I would like that.”

“You asked me to,” Louis counters, but he leans in, fastening his hands over Harry’s hips to pull off his pants, and takes the head of Harry’s cock between his lips, a warm, wet pressure that makes Harry jerk up, grit out a broken apology and thread his fingers through Louis’ hair. 

Louis pulls away again, looks up, crouched down, hair in his face and lips parted like a fucking wet dream, and Harry remembers that Louis hasn’t done this much, remembers his hesitation the first time around. He drops his head back and tries to control his breathing, tries to keep his hands from guiding Louis and allows him - as always - to set the pace. Louis’ tongue traces along the underside of his cock up to the crown, teases the slit and then finds its way back down to Harry’s balls which Louis gently sucks between his lips like he’s trying to get a reaction out of Harry. 

It works; Harry groans, tightens his grip on Louis’ hair, but keeps his hips still, trying to part his legs a little against the strain of his underwear. Louis moves back up and takes him in, sucks Harry’s cock between his lips and starts bobbing his head up and down immediately without much preamble; he’s good at this and the pressure of his lips and the rich softness of his tongue have Harry arching up within moments, unable to contain his voice. 

He squeezes his eyes shut more tightly until the black turns into dancing stars, feels himself go a little blank like Louis is literally sucking his brains out his dick, and imagines the way his cock must feel like in Louis’ mouth, suddenly solely focused on the sounds Louis is making, slurping and sucking and moaning like he loves this. Harry rocks up, moulds his hands to Louis’ head, and does it again before he even realizes what he’s doing, fucking up into Louis’ mouth and his throat. 

Louis makes a gagging sound and Harry halts and hastily opens his eyes, but Louis is bending down more, nearly lying down, his hips rutting against the sofa between Harry’s legs; he swallows tangibly to Harry, saliva dripping down his chin and Harry’s cock, and stares up at Harry, his hands sliding from Harry’s hips to his arse, squeezing, urging him up to fuck into Louis’ mouth again. 

_Are you sure?_ , Harry wants to ask but all he manages is a pathetic croak before he curls his fingers in Louis’ hair and thrusts up into Louis’ throat, feeling it catch on the head of his cock, feeling Louis’ body convulse and tighten with restraint. 

“Fuck,” he moans and does it again, hyper-aware of the sweat gathering on his forehead, his chest and stomach, his straining arms where he’s holding Louis’ head in place to fuck his mouth. Louis’ sounds - every little choking, broken moan - mixes with Harry’s own until he can’t keep them separated in his head anymore, until they converge with the stampede of his own hammering heart and the staccato of his breathing. 

“Lou-” His voices stutters, thighs tensing, body going from hot to cold. “Louis, I’m coming-” 

Louis’ eyes flicker and he starts pulling back, catching Harry’s wet cock in his palm just as it twitches; he presses his lips against the head, laps at it and lets Harry come over his lips, tongue, chin, before sitting up, mouth _swollen_ and stained, eyes glassy. He cups his own cock, smearing Harry’s come over his stomach in the process, and rocks down against his hand. 

He looks desperate and needy and Harry shakes himself out of his bliss-induced stupor, feeling dizzy and almost high from his orgasm, and sits up to pull Louis close, one hand on Louis’ arse and the other on his cock. Louis yields, body pliant, and presses against Harry, dropping his forehead against Harry’s shoulder, whimpering hoarsely when Harry starts wanking him off. He’s hot, skin sticky with sweat, and he’s quivering in Harry’s hands like a hurt animal, his eyes squeezed shut. 

Harry kneads his arse and speeds his other hand up a little, slipping a finger in between Louis’ cheeks to ghost over his opening, to tease him a little. Louis freezes, digging his fingers into Harry’s thigh, and there’s not much of another warning before he comes all over Harry’s hand and his own cock.

“Oh,” he breathes and again, “ _oh_ ,” and then his body goes soft, relaxing against Harry’s. Harry inhales and holds his breath, stunned, gently lets go of Louis’ cock, stupidly unsure about what to do with his hand. He keeps still trying to figure out his next move, vision fuzzy, overwhelmed, and Louis says something unintelligible and reaches down to the floor and retrieves his bathrobe, which he uses to wipe his face and then Harry’s hand. 

He gives Harry a dopey smile and settles back against him, tucks Harry’s arm over his shoulder and covers his legs with the soiled robe. Harry exhales and feels the tension wash out of him quite suddenly, slumping against Louis who pats his stomach, fingers lingering, and helps him pull up his pants. 

“That was-” Harry starts because it’s then that it hits him that Louis just let him- that Louis- 

“-super relaxing,” Louis interjects. He sneaks his arms around Harry’s waist and presses a kiss to Harry’s shoulder, and this is new because usually Harry finds himself having to force-cuddle post-coitus until Louis finally gives in and allows standard after-sex intimacy, and it makes Harry’s heart race. He wiggles a little closer, biting down on his smile. 

“Thank you,” Louis says and Harry perks up again, shaking his head and frowning when Louis nudges his nose against his chin like a dog. 

“Whatfor?” he asks and nudges back, ducking down to press his nose against Louis’, feeling brave. 

“Nothing,” Louis replies, but it doesn’t sound like _nothing_ at all. He smiles a little, the beginning of it tugging at his mouth. “I like this. It’s good. This thing,” he eventually says so quietly that Harry barely even hears it. 

“Yeah,” he says automatically, almost deaf through the rush of blood in his ears. “It is. It’s a good thing.” He pinches Louis’ waist playfully and leans down to kiss him again because he can, because it’s a Thing now that Louis said it’s a Thing.

***

**Author's Note:**

> ❤❤❤ to [Jamie](http://flowersmaywilt.tumblr.com/) for beta and [Natasha](http://wearecities.tumblr.com/) for britpick!!


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